


for all the pearls in the sea

by shadhahvar



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cecaelia!Yuuri, M/M, Under the Sea, mer!Victor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-05 23:47:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15181997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadhahvar/pseuds/shadhahvar
Summary: Victor is a model--and a mermaid.  Having gone to land a decade before to follow his modeling dreams, he's being sent back to the sea by his agency director for long overdue recovery time.  While there, he meets Yuuri Katsuki, a cecaelia who helps his parents run the underwater hotspring resort near the shore, and finds himself reconnecting to what love in his life might mean.





	for all the pearls in the sea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dyeingdoll](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dyeingdoll/gifts).
  * Inspired by [MerModel AU](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/395354) by dyeingdoll. 



> Rating may change with any further postings!
> 
> This short has been written for Dyeingdoll's [Mer Model AU on Tumblr](https://dyeingdoll.tumblr.com/tagged/MerModelAU)! Check out Didi's brilliant work and give her a follow!
> 
> Thank you to [Izzy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzyisozaki) for beta-reading this!

He stood at the edge of the pier, having walked down the ramp to the lower dock, and stared out over the swell of water coming in to shore. Waves sounded different above the surface than below; for as long as he’d been away from the world under the sea, Victor never forgot the way it sounded.

Makkachin whined, nosing at his side. His fingers twitched, stroking over the soft curls of her head, scratching behind her ears in reassurance. He wasn’t sure if it was more for his dog or himself. 

Yakov cleared his throat behind him. Looking over his shoulder, Victor studied the man responsible for supporting Victor’s successful career. The lines on his face were deeper these days than they were ten, eleven years ago, when Victor was a teenager and every possibility was so bright. These days it was harder to find his way through to what kept him challenging expectations, pushing for better representations on the runway and in print.

Modeling wasn’t glamorous, though he knew people believed it was from the outside. Or perhaps it was time and experience that made him look past that lusture to see what he could do with modeling as a vehicle of change, while finding more and more as time went by, he kept less and less of himself in the process.

Yakov was right, and Victor knew it, but he didn’t enjoy admitting he needed time away. Mer-shoots were few and far between, so telling Victor to go on leave was telling him not to work. At least not on the runway.

Yakov still hadn’t spoken, simply looking Victor’s way with his eyebrows furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line. Victor smiled, partly because he knew it would irritate Yakov, partly because smiling was the last thing he wanted to do.

“I know,” he said, looking away again. “I’m just saying goodbye.”

“Makkachin will be well cared for, ridiculous dog that she is.”

“The most beautiful, ridiculous, sweetest dog I know,” Victor said, crouching down and scratching the fur on her cheeks. “Who’s a good girl? Who’s the best girl? It’s you, Makkachin! Behave yourself when you’re with Uncle Yakov, okay?” Victor pulled her into a hug, his dog accepting the handling with grace. “Don’t eat anything you’re not supposed to eat. I know you, miss stomach on legs with a cute tail.”

Makkachin boofed, wagging her tail as Victor pulled away again. He didn’t try dodging the great big lick to the side of his face she delivered, finding it easier to smile as he laughed and wiped at the trail of spit she left behind. 

“How you can stand her doing that, I’ll never know.” Yakov patted his hand against his thigh, calling for Makkachin. She gave Victor a last look before standing, ambling toward Yakov with a fast wagging of her tail. It was her way of greeting anyone who regularly gave her treats, and the way she nosed Yakov’s hand and pocket further underlined the nature of their relationship. Victor let Yakov see his smile without saying anything about why; Yakov’s grunt was enough acknowledgement anyway.

“Doesn’t everyone enjoy indulging the ones they love?” He ran his fingers through his hair, working out windblown tangles he’d gotten walking from the vehicle out to the end of the pier. He’d never bothered doing more than having split ends cleaned up from time to time. The mass of it hung down to mid-thigh now, far longer than practical above or below the sea. 

“Not the ones of us with any sense in our heads.”

Victor had the grace not to snort, canting his head to the side as if he might be considering Yakov’s words. He wasn’t, not really; Yakov was as guilty as Victor of indulgences, couched as they might be in gruff statements and orders.

He pulled his cardigan off, folding it in half and setting it on the wood of the pier. He was already barefoot, saying goodbye to the peculiar freedom of feet in the only way he knew how. He might have danced, but he felt Yakov wouldn’t appreciate it, and if he were honest, he hadn’t felt like dancing for a long, long time.

He stripped in the same efficient way as he managed most clothing changes, undershirt folded and left on top of his pants. Bothering with undergarments had been beyond him, so he stood in the chill of springtime air at the edge of the lower dock, the spray of water sloshing up against the supports of the pier peppering his skin. He felt the call then, the deep-seated need to embrace the ocean, but still he stalled.

“I’m going to need a new contract when I come back,” he said, staring out over the water.

Yakov grunted behind him. “We’ll handle that detail when it’s time.”

“It won’t be Lilia.”

“No,” Yakov said, irritation colouring his voice. “It won’t. Now Vitya, get your naked ass into the water before I kick you in myself.”

VIctor laughed, turning around and waving his fingers. “Now, now, that’d just upset Makkachin, we wouldn’t want that.”

He took hold of the slick ladder leading down into the water, descending step by step and shivering as the water’s chill burned beneath his flesh. Once his hips were submerged, he turned and dove beneath the surface, kicking down into the depths of light blue and toward the rock studded sands below.

He knew it would hurt, but not how it would hurt, incapable of breathing as his bones ached and rearranged, legs fusing together as his anatomy realigned to his natural state of being. He’d been born mer, but the majority of his life had been spent above the surface, chasing after a life lived under the sun instead of under the seas.

Most days, he didn’t regret it. Not even now, thrashing and caught in the halo of his own hair, drawing salt into his mouth and coughing as his lungs and gills adapted to a different form of breathing, he didn’t regret his choice. The human world held so much he loved and admired.

The world of the sea was different, calmer, less… something. Or it had been, years ago. He supposed it might be different now, and as he took in his first gaping mouthfuls of water, finding he once again could breathe, he knew he’d give it a chance. Lonely as this world beneath the waters was for him, Victor didn’t know how to live without at least making an attempt to reinvent himself to fit his circumstances.

Gritting his teeth, running his hands over the slick smoothness of his purple-shaded scales, he let the taste of salt fade from his tongue and swam, following the currents back to the seascape of his adolescence.

* * *

He lasted barely a week before the loneliness of his own caves mixed with the boredom of a life lived without functional purpose. Mer communities were small by their nature when compared to human towns and cities, and while the people in his community were kind, they were also busy with their day-to-day lives. Running stores, hauling in catches from the deep sea nets, tending to the seaweed lines, feeding the oyster farms; the youngest were in schools, the oldest were tending to families or those too young to be swimming around on their own.

His own restlessness drove him further and further from the center of town, where drinks at the human-trade stocked cafes with their variety of canned and bottled beverages (including, to his mixed amusement and nostalgia, sea salt coffee) while watching the mers go by failed to keep him from twitching where he lay settled against a perching stone.

He had no task, and while he could apply to work in any of the stores or fields willing to take on a twenty-seven year old mer, he didn’t have the depth of knowledge or desire to appease random members of the public. The attempts left him feeling more tired than fulfilled, and so he simply survived off his savings, noting his check from the agency auto-depositing into his checking account right on schedule. The fact most underwater communities had access to the internet meant people were up to date on events above and below the water—or the mer communities were. The cecaelia families were only as connected as they wanted to be, most eschewing what was seen as a further attempt by humans and mer to integrate their communities into a cohesive whole.

Victor loved the potential to stay connected even as he hated it. He had no phone underwater, hadn’t bothered ordering a compatible one in the hopes that his time spent in the sea would be brief, and a week in wasn’t long enough to justify making the purchase. He wasn’t conceding that easily.

He shook his head, picking up speed heading out of town. More tendrils of hair slipped loose from the messy braid he’d fumbled through that morning, but he barely noticed while he was in motion, the pull of his hair about the same either way. It wasn’t until he stopped that he found it irritating, depending on what kind of current he was around.

He adjusted the satchel over his shoulder, swimming out past the kelp fields, swimming beyond the beds of oysters with their cultured pearls. The idea of something to do had crawled up on him late last night, an inkling of a tedious adventure his heart latched onto for the sake of its possibility. 

He went pearl hunting.

He’d considered heading out with his personal net, spear, or bobbed fishing line, but Victor didn’t feel like hunting for fish so much as keeping himself busy. One of the few memories he had of his parents involved using a limited form of echolocation to figure out if an oyster held a pearl. His mother had taken him against her stomach to demonstrate how to gently pry open the shell, how to make the small, precise incision that allowed the pearl to be carefully worked free without killing the oyster. He’d ached all over after a day spent combing through the patches of oysters littering the outskirts of their home region, but the small handful of pearls they’d found together had been his biggest prize for years following.

They were back in his apartment on land, tucked into a music box with a melody he’d written himself. His parent’s lullaby, the last remnant of a song they shared before unfortunate circumstance had taken them away, the last impression of their voices he carried.

He sang that wordless melody as he hit the open expanse of waters leading along the continental shelf, swimming low to the seabed and reaching out to skim his fingers over rocks and clusters of seaweed as he passed. 

Out here, watching the smaller fish dart between outcroppings of stone, he found something closer to peace. 

He settled himself by a bed of oysters, covering rock outcroppings on the fringe of a low growing kelp garden. Fish darted between the fronds of the kelp, some stealing closer as Victor remained where he was, fins braced against the rock and sand beneath him, tail acting as an anchor. He felt a cleaner fish nibble at the small of his back, shaking his head and allowing his braid to brush the invasive, curious creature away.

It took him a few tries to remember the right way to form his tongue, clicking as he brought himself close to the oysters. Dolphins were far better at this form of communication than mers, but they had enough of a hang of it to interpret the feedback of short distance sound bouncing back to them, useful when navigating caves and tunnels in darkness. He relearned the curves of an inside shell, the slight variation so natural between one oyster and the next. Patient, he clicked and sang to the oysters, eyes lighting up as one came back with the telling report of an irregularity. Victor pulled out his flat blade, careful as he pried the shell open, until his fingers could hold it gently spread. 

He fumbled for his paring knife, blessing stainless steel for lasting longer than most metals under the surface of the seas. It allowed him to make the small cut necessary for extraction, fingertips massaging the pearl contained within out into the palm of his waiting hand.

Pulling his fingers away, he watched the oyster close again, knowing as it latched shut it would be okay, no longer carrying the irritant it had encased in pearl. He glanced down to his hand, admiring the sheen on the surface of the teardrop shaped black pearl that rested there. No perfect globe, but he’d always preferred things for their imperfections, the irregularities that allowed for a diverse world, endless in its potential to surprise.

He held the pearl up between two fingers, arm extended to catch some of the light filtering down to this depth. “Beautiful,” he said, allowing himself a soft smile as he regarded his imperfect discovery.

“Incredible,” he heard, followed by a swift movement of a body through water and the muffled fall of rocks bouncing off each other in a drift toward the sand.

Victor whipped himself around, hand tucked to his chest, his other hand holding his paring knife at his side as he shot up into the water, hair billowing around him. He caught a glimpse of pale and dark disappearing over the rocks into the kelp garden, and he swam higher, seeing how the kelp shifted as something decently large wove between them. Hints of pale and black kept his eyes focused in the direction where an adult cecaelian emerged, the mass of his tentacles, billowing out and contracting in order to send him shooting forward at a speed difficult for Victor to match.

At first.

He slipped his paring knife away as he rocked himself forward, his pectoral fins adjusting his angle as he gave chase. Mer were better at distance racing, by and large, but the cecaelia were able to use their initial burst of speed to catch and overpower unwary prey—they were famous for having confronted and won against tiger and bullsharks using that speed when their family groups were threatened. Victor had never been in a situation to test his speed against anyone else, and he wasn’t fully sure why he was doing so now.

“Hey, wait up! Why are you running!” he said, calling out and then grimacing. He was too used to being on the surface. There were other ways to speak underwater, after all, common for all the peoples of the sea.

Victor clicked his tongue and _sang_ , sang in a way reminiscent of porpoises and whales, singing out an entreaty that said only one thing: _why?_ There were no intonations of accusation, no anger, only the curiosity; and underneath it all, a hint of the ache that lived underneath his diaphragm, that loneliness he tried to banish by ignoring its existence. The downside to whalesong was the way it drew on emotion, making it next to impossible to lie.

The upside was the exact same: singing delivered the truth.

He could see the effect it had on the fleeing cecaelia, how they twisted around and glanced back toward him. The pale skin of their torso speckled into the deep, healthy sheen of their tentacles and arms, all eight of them streaming behind as they gathered for another surge of speed and faltered.

Victor sang his question again, trying to emphasize the curiosity, hearing the intonation of underlying loneliness just as clearly. He made himself slow down, less of a headlong dash after the cecaelia now, matching actions to words.

He heard the answering song, the same word, with different emotional undertones.

 _Why_ , he heard, and there was confusion, and want, and curiosity all mixed together. Maybe even a hint of answering loneliness, but Victor knew himself well enough to guess that might be wishful thinking on his part. He’d never spent as much time with cecaelias below the water as he did in passing above; Lilia had been particularly outgoing and severe all at once before she’d chosen to retire. He hadn’t expected to run into anyone out here, let alone a cecaelia, and as their returning song reverberated in his bones, he smiled, big and bright.

 _Company_ , he sang back, tucking half his fins and an arm close to roll himself sideways, hair swirling with him. It was far and beyond borrowing on dolphin style invitations, rolling to play, but the absurdity of it appealed to the part of Victor that wanted to draw in the cecaelia. He pulled himself out of his barrel roll to hang in the waters, perpendicular to the sea floor, his hair continuing to work its way loose from his messy braid.

The cecaelia slowed to a stop in turn, settling down on the sands. Victor didn’t mistake that for comfort, not when each of those tentacles could push off the seabed with a force Victor couldn’t match with his tail alone. If the cecaelia wanted to leave, they would, and Victor would respect that rather than continue to give chase. 

The cecaelia continued to watch him, tentacles restless, shifting and stirring up the sands in small eddies that had no chance to resettle. When they sang back an answer, Victor heard the hesitation and hope mixed in with something akin to disbelief.

_Company?_

He sang back his confirmation. _Yes._ Holding out the hand not clutching the pearl he’d discovered, he waited like he did when it came to introductions with business partners and new models up above in the world surrounded by air. He waited, smiling, hand held out, palm turned up in invitation.

He watched the cecaelia consider, saw the moment that a decision was reached. A sinuous flow forward gave the impression of the cecaelia pouring forward, tentacles moving with them in smooth harmony. Victor waited, and after a few meters, the cecaelia pushed off the seabed, swimming closer with small expansions and contractions of his tentacles and the webbing between them.

When they were close enough, Victor tipped his head forward, tilting his hand for a handshake. The cecaelia, who he was fairly sure might be male, quirked his eyebrows, breathing out in a snort Victor saw more than heard.

“A handshake? After chasing me down?”

“I don’t recall catching up with you,” Victor said, demuring, “And you can hardly blame me for chasing after someone who spoke up then disappeared without introducing themselves.”

His companion frowned, then ducked his head, tentacles winding around each other. One rose up to tentatively poke at Victor’s hand, Victor blinking and giving the tentacle a gentle squeeze in return.

The cecaelia yelped, pulling his tentacles in close and away again, hands held out in front. “Sorry!” he said, bowing his head forward. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“To shake tentacles?”

“You don’t even have tentacles, so no?”

Victor grinned, waggling his fingers. “I’m willing if you are. Victor Nikiforov.”

The cecaelia gave him a flat look that turned into a hint of amused disbelief, shaking his head and reaching out with his clawed hand to take Victor’s hand in his. “Yuuri Katsuki,” he said. “I thought that might have been you, but it just seemed…”

“Surprising?” Victor gave Yuuri’s hand a squeeze, opting against shaking when it would destabilize him.

Yuuri startled, then laughed, his tentacles uncurling out of their tight coils. “Yeah. Surprising would be the word.”

Victor found himself surprised into laughing along with Yuuri, smiling without having to remind himself to smile. “Nice to know I can manage it even when not trying.” He let go of Yuuri’s hand as Yuuri released his hold on Victor, pulling his hand back. “What had you out here today?”

Yuuri hesitated, eyes flicking between Victor and the kelp gardens some distance behind him. “Sea urchins,” he said, a blush spreading across his cheeks. “Collecting sea urchins.”

Victor leaned forward, checking himself as he saw Yuuri’s tentacles start to twist around each other in nervous pairs again. “To eat?”

“They make terrible pets, so yes, that was the idea.” Yuuri straightened, blush still visible across the bridge of his nose. “What about you? With the singing and the,” he trailed off, making a small motion with the back of his cupped hand to Victor.

“Clicking and the knife? Pearl hunting.” Victor held out his other hand, presenting the tear shaped black pearl. As he did, the sheen of Yuuri’s gently moving tentacles catching the light came close to a perfect match for the pearl itself, beautiful and vibrant. “It’s been years since I last tried.” He tipped his hand toward Yuuri, flashing him another smile. “Here.”

Yuuri blinked and looked at Victor’s hand and the pearl laying in his palm. He reached out, moving slowly, as if he expected Victor to withdraw his hand at any moment. Hesitating again before reaching for the pearl, Yuuri looked back to his face. “Are you sure?”

Victor nodded, smile more sedate, and surprisingly still sincere. “Yes. Go on.”

Yuuri plucked the pearl out of Victor’s palm with careful claws, the tips of them raking gently across Victor’s skin. He resisted shivering at the touch, a pleasant sort of frisson of electricity traveling up his arm and down his spine. It surprised him, but even that surprise was brushed aside as he watched the way Yuuri examined the pearl, holding it carefully between two fingertips.

“It’s beautiful.”

It was, and Victor knew that fact as surely as he knew the pearl wasn’t meant for him. “It’s yours,” he said, watching Yuuri’s look of wonder morph into one of surprise, his shoulders hunching up even as his tentacles pulled in close and then spread around him, as if trying to occupy more space. He looked larger like that, powerful and in his prime and utterly flummoxed by the teardrop pearl held balanced between his thumb and forefinger.

“What?! You can’t mean that!”

“I do,” Victor said, all the more certain he was making the right choice. “It suits you.”

“But it’s your hunt!”

“My hunt that I’m choosing to give to you.” Victor’s hands drifted back to his sides, his hair teasing at floating into his face. 

Yuuri continued to stare at him, tips of his tentacles twitching. “You can’t mean this,” he said, insistent. “It just doesn’t make sense.”

He was missing something, but he wasn’t sure what. Victor flashed a smaller smile Yuuri’s way, lifting his hands to gather his hair over one shoulder. The braid mostly held its shape, for all half his hair was out of it as well as in it now. “I don’t mean to be rude. Is it an inappropriate gift?”

Yuuri shook his head, waving his other hand in the water between them. “No, no, no, not inappropriate, never inappropriate, just unexpected? I, it’s not what… We just met.”

“Yes, we did.” He still wasn’t understanding Yuuri’s confusion, but he supposed that in any context it would seem odd to be given a gift from a stranger, no matter if you recognised them from somewhere or not. “Hopefully for the first, and not the last, time. Do you live around here?”

Yuuri continued to hold the pearl like he was frightened he might injure it somehow. “Yes, at the resort by the volcanic vents.” He turned his head in the direction he’d been fleeing in, nodding his head that way. “Why?”

He’d heard about resorts near the natural vents that produced superheated water in the darkness of the sea’s depths, but never been to one himself. He supposed they were similar to the hot springs humans used on land. “Oh, a vent resort! I’ve never been to one of those! Would it be all right if I stopped by to see you, and maybe visited the resort afterward?”

Yuuri stared at him again, nodding his head and flushing bright red all over again. “Yes! Yes, you can, you don’t have to ask permission, but—you want to see me?”

Victor felt himself lifting his eyebrows, studying Yuuri’s face. “Yes, unless you’d prefer otherwise?”

Again, Yuuri shook his head, his tentacles spreading out as if to emphasise the denial. “No, I’d love to see you! You’re welcome to come by anytime, I just can’t promise I’ll always be there.”

“Oh?”

Yuuri nodded, eyes serious. “I go hunting, I help with the springs, I run errands for my mentor.”

Victor listened, curiosity piqued. “All on your own?”

“For the most part.”

“By choice, or necessity?”

“Both, really. Everyone’s busy, and I don’t mind doing these things on my own.”

“Would you mind if I joined you?”

“I—but why would you want to? I’m sure you have much more important things to do, you’re—”

“—Currently spending my time singing to oysters.” He laughed, shaking his head, holding his hair trapped over his shoulder. “I don’t want to be a bother, so this is a request. If there’s any errand you’re running where you don’t mind company, let me know?”

Yuuri swallowed, the action catching Victor’s attention. “If you want. I’m not sure how you… want me to let you know.”

Victor paused, then laughed, shaking his head. Asking Yuuri to come into town to find him was ridiculous. “We could meet here,” he offered, “Or I could stop by the resort in the mornings. That’d be a good morning’s exercise swimming out there, if it’s where I think it is.”

“Here,” Yuuri said, nodding his head. “Here’s fine! By the rocks?”

“Yes, that works! I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

Yuuri opened his mouth, then closed it, offering a single nod. Victor beamed at him, clapping his hands together only to realise a beat too late it didn’t work as well underwater. Yuuri tried to hide a smile after closing his fist around the pearl, the water disturbed between them calming after a moment.

“Still not used to being back down here,” Victor said by way of apology, and Yuuri, either polite or choosing to believe Victor, simply nodded again.

As he swam away, waving to Yuuri once, Victor felt almost excited by the possibilities of what the future might bring.

* * *

Yuuri stared down at the black pearl in his hand, and he knew without a doubt that Victor Nikiforov, top model and all around good person, had no idea he’d proposed. Cecaelian traditions weren’t well known outside of their community, but he couldn’t help but feel a little thrill at the idea that in any universe the person he’d admired since he was twelve might ever possibly enjoy and want to be with him.

He just had to forget about the proposal before the next morning. Victor hadn’t meant to present the fruits of his hunt to Yuuri, or to imply Yuuri was worthy of them, and worthy of being provided for as a partner and a mate.

It was a beautiful, effervescent fantasy, a pearl of memories to hold in his heart long after Victor returned to his life above the surface.

Yuuri just hoped he had enough of his own heart left after that happened to carry on.


End file.
